


Ho Ho Hopefully

by Elasmosaurus



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: ? - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, Friends to ?, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Roommates, Snowed In, Sylvain is not great to women, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius, obnoxious bantering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28404735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elasmosaurus/pseuds/Elasmosaurus
Summary: He couldn’t drive back. Sylvain felt like all his Christmases had come at once. The realisation that he would be spared the traditional Gautier festivities lightened Sylvain’s spirits until he wasn’t sure if he was shaking from the cold or the laughter in the snowstorm.Sylvain exhaled all his worries in a misted breath that dispelled into the air. The crisp, cool, fresh air of guilt free freedom tasted better than anything else he’d experienced in his twenty years.He wondered how it compared to the taste of Felix’s lips.On Christmas day, snow prevents Felix and Sylvain from going home. Will Sylvain finally find the courage to act on his feelings for Felix?
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 9
Kudos: 52





	Ho Ho Hopefully

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JustGotThemSharpened](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustGotThemSharpened/gifts).



> Merry Christmas Ren! I'm sorry it's late, but I hope you like it.
> 
> Title taken from the song ["Ho Ho Hopefully"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rAIlv0PMTY8) by The Maine that I recommend listening to whilst you read.
> 
> Before reading, please be aware of:  
> Referenced Child Abuse  
> Sylvain being depicted as manipulative towards women
> 
> Thanks as always to Vi, Sayl, Ren, and theshipsaileditself who sensitivity checked this for me! <3

Their parents were rich enough to make it happen, they’d been friends forever, and they would have minimal complaints about each other’s night schedules (Sylvain’s girls and Felix’s nightmares. Also Sylvain's night terrors, but those were rare and no-one else but Felix and the Gautiers knew about them). It made sense for them to be roommates. So of course no-one was surprised when Felix and Sylvain ended up outside room 84 in the Blue Lions dorms at Garreg Mach uni during Freshers week. Family money brought Dimitri a room on the same floor too, and Ingrid got a place in the same building on the next level up.

Sylvain thought it would be fun to have everyone together in the same dorms, but living with Felix taught him how much he’d underestimated Felix’s abilities to hide his feelings and shut people out of his life. Sylvain knew about the growing rift between Felix and Dimitri, but knowing it and experiencing it were two different things. Mentioning Dimitri’s name was asking for a shouting match. The one time Sylvain invited Dimitri round earned him two weeks of silent treatment and zero tolerance for having anyone back to their room, or Sylvain coming in late from someone else’s. Not that Felix had much tolerance for that before. But the usual eyerolls turned into vicious comments on his life choices, some of which cut a little too close to the bone.

_ Whoring yourself out won’t solve your problems. How can you even look at yourself in the mirror behind all that fake? _

Even though that one was a month ago, Sylvain still felt the lingering knife wound of the words in his heart. Because the most unexpected side effect of being around Felix all the time were the two realisations he'd made: 1) that Sylvain gave a damn what Felix thought, and 2) Felix was  _ stunning. _

Sylvain wasn’t quite sure when it happened. Yeah, he and Felix had always been close. More close than any of the rest of the Faerghus Four, as they’d called themselves when they were kids. One day, Sylvain awoke to find himself staring at Felix when he dressed. Marvelling at how his long black-blue tresses cascaded down his back like the midnight sky. Drinking in the statue of his pale marble skin, with perfectly sculpted muscles that would put Michelangelo’s David to shame. In those early mornings when Felix got up to go for a run, the single beam of light from between their curtains would fall into his face and emphasise the subtle difference in the tone of his eyes - the left was a shade darker, richer, more like aged oak barrel whiskey; the right was more akin to amber flecked with honey highlights.

Then there was the way his hips swayed as he walked, that graceful dancer’s figure, feather light on his feet. A result of years of training in any combat art he could find - boxing, fencing, MMA, Muay Thai, Kendo. Cheekbones sharper than his rapier wit that so few understood. Felix was hilarious; Sylvain couldn’t see why no-one else thought so.

Just being around Felix felt easy in a way Sylvain hadn’t experienced since before he had to conceal the bruises, lie about the breaks and help the Gautiers manufacture their image of a perfect Stepford family. Neither of them had anything to hide from the other. Not that Sylvain ever truly let go of the armour he wore to hide the pain of his shipwrecked life. Or that Felix ever truly let go of his caustic exterior. When they talked though...really talked, about everything and nothing as the hours melted away...Sylvain felt whole in a way he’d only dreamed about for years.

And signs that maybe, just maybe, Felix felt the same were there too. Times when eye contact, a rare occurrence for Felix anyway, was held for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. The way Felix seemed to trip over his words if he turned around and Sylvain was anything but fully dressed. How much less grumpy (arguably happier, but Felix was always in a constant state of grouch) he was if Sylvain spent the night at home, rather than out. How sometimes he’d just go on and on and on about whatever topic he was hyper fixating on now (currently Hades by SuperGiant games. At least Felix had good taste) when he usually said so little.

If only Sylvain was less of a coward and could bring himself to act on it. He tried, over the course of the semester. Each time he got up the nerve to talk to Felix about it, something came up, or Miklan’s voice rang in his head.  _ Why would he want you? You’re worthless. _ His brother was long gone by now, but Miklan's hold on Sylvain's life was so tight no amount of distance could sever it.

The semester passed far too quickly, and before Sylvain could blink it was the Christmas holidays. Dimitri and Ingrid left when classes finished, but Sylvain endeavoured to spend the shortest amount of time at home as possible. Predictably, Felix did the same. Sylvain knew they’d have to be home on Christmas Day. The weight of the 25th sat heavily in his stomach, a coiled ball of writhing snakes poised to attack as Sylvain’s dread increased at the impending drilling from the Gautiers about how his behaviour was unbecoming and how were they going to marry him off to an heiress with a reputation like his?

Felix being a high strung, moody bastard didn’t help Sylvain's mood but he understood. Christmases were difficult since Felix’s mother died; tensions ran high until, one too many whiskeys later, Felix and Rodrigue had it out in a shouting match. Worse now that Glenn, the Fraldarius peacekeeper, ran off to Almyra the first chance he got. Sylvain didn’t blame him. If running away, or not going home, was an option for him - he’d take it in a heartbeat. Missing Christmas wasn’t worth the hassle Sylvain would get from the Gautiers for abandoning them, though. It was easier to go, and nod, and smile, and let them leech his entire life force to keep up appearances.

Each chocolate in his advent calendar counted out his limited freedom until on Christmas Eve, Sylvain attempted to sleep. Felix was restless too, tossing and turning in his bed. Normally, Sylvain would distract him with a conversation about something stupid he’d learnt. They'd chat until Felix's replies got increasingly incoherent from sleep and he passed out. Something about soothing Felix always made it easier for Sylvain to sleep as well. It filled him with this warm, satisfied feeling that lulled his own demons into a stupor. Tonight, Sylvain was too busy stewing in his own issues to help Felix with his melancholy. Just this once he had to put himself first, to store the energy reserves he'd need to make it through the next seven days. On New Years Day he'd be free to leave.

Seven days was too long. Sylvain was exhausted just thinking about it, his brain racing with all the different arguments and digs the Gautiers would come up with. All the daughters that would be thrown at him when their parents came round just to "say hi," as if that wasn't code for trying to marry their unsuspecting children into a different kind of wealth. And for the Gautiers to get an heir they didn't think was worthless. They didn't want the grandchildren they always went on about. They wanted another child, one they could use to "fix" the mistakes the Gautiers made with Sylvain and Miklan. There was no fixing that level of broken, though. And  _ if  _ Sylvain ever had children, he'd never let the Gautiers anywhere near them. 

Twenty was far too young to be thinking about kids anyway.

It quickly became apparent that sleep was going to elude him for a long time yet. Not that Sylvain wanted to sleep after thinking about Miklan again.  _ That _ was a recipe for night terrors, an earful when he tried to tell the Gautiers he wasn't fit to drive and disaster when he was made to drive anyway. Sylvain groped around his nightstand for his sleep headphones and set his phone to a local radio station. Rolling to face the wall, he drowned out the world with the dulcet timbre of the shipping forecast.

None of it made any sense to Sylvain, but the pattern of places mixed with directions, numbers and weather conditions was soothing in a way the night’s gales off Sreng were not. The shipping forecast's charm came from the outlandish names given to the 23 sections of coastline and sea around Fodlan and its surrounding isles. Lonely Maiden, the strip of treacherous, widow making waters between Sreng and Edmund, was one of Sylvain’s favourites. Sleep finally claimed him when the forecast finished and Sylvain drowsily heard something about a white Christmas.

~~~

6am. Sylvain's alarm rang through the headphones that had slipped off his head, luckily loud enough and close enough to his ears still to rouse him. It was a three hour drive to drop Felix off then continue up to the Gautier estate. The plan was to leave at 7. He had an hour to get dressed, help Felix finish his packing and stuff everything in the car Tetris style before taking the road to hell. Or the interstate to Faerghus, as it was more commonly known.

Coffee. Sylvain needed coffee. With actual caffeine. And lots of milk and hazelnut syrup to make it bearable. That should wake him up enough to function. Sylvain rolled out of bed towards their small, shared kitchen to put grounds in the machine. The sky was still dark outside and he wasn't fully awake. That was his excuse for not noticing it straight away. He downed his coffee - ew, tea tasted so much better - before deciding the shock of fresh air to blow away the last cobwebs of sleep was in order.

Sylvain stumbled sleepily to the front door. He twisted the handle and forced the door open, meeting some unexpected resistance. Then Sylvain stepped outside, bare chested, wearing only his warm burgundy flannel pajama bottoms, and instantly regretted his life choices.

A blanket two feet of snow covered everything. Thick flurries continued to fall from the sky. His car was buried. The road was only identifiable from memory and the faint dip where the curb gave way to tarmac. Golden light from the streetlamps reflected off the whiteness and in the clouds, a deep orange grey promise of more snow to come. Faerghan born and bred, Sylvain really should’ve been able to sniff out the storm last night but thoughts of home had him too preoccupied.

There was no way he could shovel enough snow to get them to the main road. Or dig out the car in a reasonable time. Indech knows what state the roads would be in. Do they call in gritters on Christmas Day? Which roads are given priority, anyway? Surely not the ones that led out of the university, when everyone should already be at home.

He couldn’t drive back. Sylvain felt like all his Christmases had come at once. The realisation that he would be spared the traditional Gautier festivities lightened Sylvain’s spirits until he wasn’t sure if he was shaking from the cold or the laughter in the snowstorm.

Sylvain exhaled all his worries in a misted breath that dispelled into the air. The crisp, cool, fresh air of guilt free freedom tasted better than anything else he’d experienced in his twenty years.

He wondered how it compared to the taste of Felix’s lips.

Shit. Felix. Rodrigue. Sylvain grasped at his pockets for his phone - luckily he’d pocketed it from muscle memory - and scrolled until he found Rodrigue’s number. If Sylvain had thought about it, he would have gone back inside to don a t-shirt before video calling Felix’s dad, but he was too concerned about making sure Felix was in the clear with his father.

“Sylvain? Everything okay with Felix?” Rodrigue looked confused as he picked up the call.

Sylvain rubbed the back of his neck nervously, still trembling. “Yeah, he’s fine. Still asleep, I think.”

“Hmm.” Sylvain didn’t need the image of Rodrigue’s face on the screen to understand the judgemental overtones in  _ that. _

“I just wanted to break the bad news myself. It’s no secret this isn’t my favourite time of year, and I didn’t want you to think Felix was trying to get out of coming home.”

“Bad news?” The way Rodrigue’s eyebrow raised with the question reminded Sylvain so much of the older man’s youngest son. Rodrigue and Felix were so similar that their small differences caused insurmountable canyons between them. Suppressing a shiver, Sylvain spun around so the car was in the frame.

“Oh.” Rodrigue sounded genuinely disappointed, and Sylvain was glad he’d shouldered this burden for Felix because it clearly hurt, Felix would have made a big deal out of it, and both Felix and Rodrigue would’ve had a shit day. There  _ was _ genuine love in the Fraldarius household, just a ton of miscommunication and a lack of approval to go with it. “Well, you boys must stay there. Whatever your parents say, promise me you won’t go out in those conditions?”

“Only if you promise to tell them for me,” Sylvain winked. He didn’t mean to. The flirtatious quirks were almost reflexive now - the wink, a cheeky smile and shifting his tone to a sultrier register.

“Sorry!” He made an apologetic face, throwing his free hand up to mirror the sentiment.

A laugh accompanied the shaking head on the phone. “Ah, so the stories about you are true. Shame, I was hoping you’d find someone at uni worth putting that all aside for.”

“Really?” Sylvain couldn’t help the disbelief in his tone. He wasn’t used to anyone caring about him, much less someone caring for unselfish reasons.

“Yes. Not that there’s anything wrong with your choices.” Rodrigue’s face made it clear that he did in fact think there was something wrong with Sylvain’s choices. “But you deserve a chance at happiness you were never going to get here.”

“Nah. I’m the prize Gautier stud, I’ll be sired out to the most suitable match once it’s found.”

Rodrigue’s brow furrowed, his lips tightening. Before he found what he wanted to say, Sylvain shrugged dismissively. “It’s my lot in life. I’ve accepted it.”

“That’s very sad, Sylvain.” And  _ there _ it was. The pity on his face, the sad disapproval in his voice. Sylvain was so desperate to be appreciated for himself by anyone that he had to cough back the wetness in his eyes.

“You’ll tell my parents we’re stuck?” Sylvain deflected to get back on topic. His voice held steady. Biting his lips, chapped now from the cold, stopped them wobbling.

“Of course. They’ll want to hear from you as well, but I’ll do what I can. Look after Felix for me, and you boys have fun. Make it a good Christmas.”

Rodrigue hung up, and the forlorn look on his face haunted Sylvain. He couldn’t change the weather, or clear the roads, or slap a magic salve on the festering wound between father and son. Sylvain  _ could _ ensure he took those last words to heart, and make sure Felix had a good time.

Sylvain smiled at no-one as he turned back to go inside.

~~~

Decisions, decisions.

Should he empty Felix’s half packed bag on his head to wake him up and tell him the news?

Or should he give him the world’s coldest hug?

Sylvain longed to do the second one. Wrapping Felix in the cradle of his arms. Maybe even climbing into his bed. Pulling Felix into his chilled chest, feeling the vicious kick in his shins in response to the change of temperature, before Felix snuggled into him. It was too intimate, Sylvain decided in the end, and opted to upend the holdall over Felix’s torso instead. He threw the enclosed towel at Felix’s head for good measure, ducking instinctively to avoid the mint shower gel aimed at his face. Grouchy bastard was so predictable.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger  _ before _ you get the good news. We’re snowed in, and your dad already knows. You’re home free.” Sylvain couldn’t help the softness of his eyes or the pull of a lopsided smile when he was around Felix.

“How is being stuck with you good news?” Felix’s barbed tongue was sharp as ever.

“Because it means you get this,” Sylvain gestured at his rockin’ bod, “all to yourself.”

The answering eyeroll said a 100% stake in the Gautier stud wasn’t the hot investment his family were trying to make it out to be.

“Okay, it means you get an argument and obligation free day.”

Felix sat up at that. His long hair was wild and mussed from sleep. Sylvain’s fingers twitched as he resisted the urge to step forward and run his hands through it.

“Do me a favour? Call your dad.”

“No. You said an obligation free day, Sylvain.”

“Felix, c’mon, I'm smarter than that. More manipulative too, according to you.”

“Ugh. I said that  _ one time _ after you were a calculating bastard and worked out how to -”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m a terrible person and we both know it. I  _ do _ have an agenda, though. See, if you call right now, Rodrigue should be on the phone to the Gautiers making my excuses for me. I need you to ring, leave a polite enough voicemail where you tell him you love him-” Felix grimaced. Sylvain ignored it, rifling through his drawers for a t-shirt and the Christmas jumper Dorothea brought him instead. “- then we’re going to turn our phones off for the day.”

Something wicked gleamed in Felix’s amber eyes. “Your parents will hate it if you turn your phone off.”

Sylvain’s face popped out the top of his t-shirt as he pushed his arms through the holes. “Uh-huh. And they’ll blow up yours to get ahold of me. So be good, earn your presents by calling your family and helping me hide from mine, and who knows?” Sylvain pulled on the red jumper with a white trim and “Hoe Hoe Hoe” emblazoned on the front. “Maybe Santa’ll let you sit on his lap.” He pulled on a Santa hat and shot Felix a wink and a wolfish half grin.

Sylvain was sure the answering scoff was more delayed than usual. On Cichol's bleached arsehole, the whole situation with Felix was driving him crazy. How was he supposed to know if Felix liked him back when Felix never used words? Was Sylvain just supposed to read between the lines? But what if he did, and it turned out Sylvain was speaking ancient Nabatean, and Felix was speaking Fódlani, and he was reading too much into everything? Sylvain laughed it off and went to make breakfast mimosas.

~~~

He heard Felix leave the voicemail for Rodrigue over the pop of the prosecco bottle, then the tell tale noise of a phone powering down. Footsteps padded across their flat and a running shower became Sylvain's background noise. He loved the sound of heavy rain outside. With his eyes closed, it distorted from the steady stream of the shower to the more irregular hammering of heavy drops on window panes.

Sylvain exhaled, feeling content. Excited. Dare he say happy, even? Today was going to be a good day. Time to fix food. He rummaged around in their cupboards, checking their shelves in the fridge and freezer too, for inspiration on breakfast and an impromptu Christmas dinner.

He found very little they could turn into a holiday appropriate meal, but between him and Felix they had all the ingredients for a large fry up. Sylvain decided to go ham on breakfast. Then a less than perfect dinner wouldn't matter so much.

Felix emerged from the shower in just a long towel wrapped around his body, towelling off the excess moisture in his hair. Where it was tucked under his arms, the fluffy fabric fell to a little over halfway down Felix’s thighs, leaving a sliver of pale temptation visible above the knee. A hyper realistic wolf face was inked in greyscale across his shoulder. Piercing eyes the same shade of amber as Felix's own stared out towards a full moon. Beneath it, a dark lone wolf silhouette stood amongst a Faerghan forest howling up towards the moon. A Nordic inspired broadsword, with runes etched into its surface, lay at the wolf's feet. Two ravens perched in the trees, staring at each other. Sylvain swore under his breath. The view was surely from Nemesis himself trying to cajole him into fucking up his friendship.

One calming deep breath later, Sylvain met Felix's eyes, leaning into the counter so nothing showed if he got too excited again. He hoped his face didn’t betray his roiling desire and general fondness for Felix, but he didn’t dare use a rehearsed smile to cover it. With much effort, he lazily stirred the beans, occasionally tossing the fried bread and pancakes that were still on the stove whilst they talked.

"Y'know, if you wore some proper clothes, you might not be so cold all the time. And people would stop eyeing you up."

"They do not," Felix snapped.

"Oh Fe, I thought you were just colour blind, not actual blind.  _ Everyone _ stares at you when you walk in a room." Sylvain noticed the other heads turn out of the corner of his eye when his turned too.

"Whatever. You made breakfast?" He mumbled blearily, voice still soaked in sleep even after his shower.

"I did, and it'll be ready once you're dressed," Sylvain replied.

"What's with your sudden obsession about people being dressed? You usually parade women in various states of undress around here all the time."

"Those girls aren't so pale that the light reflecting off their skin is blinding. Go cover up, white boy."

"Tch. You're whiter than me, Gautier, and don't you forget it."

"I know that, Felix. That's why I'm dressed. So I don't dazzle you with my brilliance. Grey sweats to go with the holiday cheer of my jumper. It both covers up and reveals all my greatest assets."

Felix scoffed. "You intentionally lounge around in those to show off, don't you?" He waved his hand towards where Sylvain's crotch was hidden by the kitchen island, and Sylvain was very grateful Felix didn't have x-ray vision because of the growing bulge in his pants.

"Being this gorgeous is a ton of work, Fe. But whatever, I don't matter. Go dress, warmly, and quick! If you want any eggs before I scoff them all."

Oh goddess. If Sylvain thought the image of Felix before was temptation incarnate, the vision that exited their room minutes later to join him for breakfast was worse.

Felix was wearing sweats and Sylvain's Garreg Mach Uni hoodie.

People in his clothes just  _ did  _ something to him. In his warm, fuzzy pull over, it was like Felix was completely enveloped by Sylvain himself. Shit, that was a good image. Sylvain hoped the high pitched noise he made was all in his head. Felix didn't even flinch, so he should be in the clear.

Both men shovelled the hearty breakfast into their mouths, washing it down with mimosas as they bickered over dinner. Felix wanted to skip dinner completely and order take out. Sylvain reminded Felix that take out wasn't an option in this weather, but he could make spaghetti carbonara if Felix wanted. Felix didn't want. The conversation went back and forth, with Sylvain suggesting something and Felix shooting it down, until he took another look in the freezer.

“If you don’t say yes to this suggestion we’re having Lucky Charms for Christmas dinner and you  _ will _ eat them.”

“Make better suggestions if you don’t want me to shoot them down, idiot,” came Felix’s biting reply.

“If you spit the marshmallows out at me, I’ll feed them back to you,” Sylvain warned. Felix stared at him, blank-faced, until Sylvain made his final suggestion.

“Pizza? There are mozzarella sticks too, and we can add extra cheese and chilli to yours. Oh! You have jalapeños and salsa, I have corn chips, we could make nachos to go with it?”

“Stop trying to sell it so hard, I’m in,” Felix said.

“Really? And not just to get out of eating marshmallows?”

“Yeah. I’m putting jalapeños on the pizza, though.”

“They aren’t going anywhere near mine, Felix. You can do what you want to yours.”

“Can’t believe you have the audacity to comment on pizza toppings when you eat fruit on pizza.”

“Technically, everyone has fruit on their pizzas. Tomatoes are a fruit.” Sylvain pulled up the results of a quick Google search on his phone to prove his point.

“You’re a monster who puts pineapple on pizza. Everything you say is invalid.”

This time, Sylvain rolled his eyes. "Okay. What d'you want to do today, Fe? I’m easy with whatever you want."

“Easy is right,” Felix muttered.

“Oh, it’s on.” He wasn’t about to stand there and let Felix get away with making comments like that under his breath. Felix needed to make them out loud, so Sylvain could throw something clever and suggestive back at him. It was an unwritten rule of their friendship. Sylvain’s eyes shone with the cheeky smile on his face. He barrelled towards Felix, the lemongrass scent of his shampoo filling Sylvain’s nostrils as he threw Felix over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. He writhed and lashed out, demanding to be put down. Sylvain ignored him, striding over to the front door which he managed to put on the latch single handedly before dumping Felix unceremoniously into a snow drift.

“Bitch,” Felix snapped.

“Jerk,” Sylvain retorted, flopping down a short distance away from his friend. They couldn’t stay out too long without their coats, but he planned to enjoy the snow. Sylvain turned his head to where Felix would be, letting his full feelings tear free of his heart to show on his face. He didn’t need to mask anything when he had the snow to hide behind. Felix’s rapid, uneven breathing from the shock of the cold told Sylvain he hadn’t died over there. Sylvain exhaled wistfully as he began to sweep his arms and legs in wide movements, creating an angel pattern in the snow. He paused to listen for Felix, hearing instead the perfectly still silence you only get in snowy conditions, interrupted by more measured breathing.

“C’mon, join in. You know you want to. You used to love doing this when we were kids.” Nostalgia filled Sylvain’s voice as he swallowed the lump in his throat. “Glenn, Dimitri and Ingrid were always too busy or serious for it, but we’d find a good spot of uninterrupted snow to make enough angels to watch over everyone we cared about.”

Felix bolted upright to stare down at Sylvain. “It was stupid childish nonsense. They didn’t help.”

“They helped me,” Sylvain breathed, a sad smile twisting the corner of his mouth. “Made me feel better. Please, Fe, join in? For me?”

An unknowable emotion burned in Felix’s eyes as he held Sylvain’s gaze. He broke the contact with a blink, turning to look over his shoulder, his jaw set. Sylvain thought he knew how to read Felix but this was something new. Unguarded, but unreadable. Before he could dwell on it, Felix lay back down and Sylvain soon heard the swish of the man’s arms against the snow. Apparently those were the magic words. Sylvain was definitely going to remember that for later. He sank back into the snow, conscious of the wetness permeating his jumper, to think.

Felix heaving him to his feet distracted Sylvain from his reverie. He kept close to Sylvain during the very short walk to their front door. Felix slipped back inside in silence. Sylvain lingered in the doorway, glancing back to his angel. He used to write the name of the person they were meant to protect beneath them. He’d always made one for Miklan, hoping the angels would save him from himself. Today, he whispered the name into the stillness.

“Felix.”

~~~

The rest of their day was very pleasant. Sylvain turned the heating way up when they got back inside, and Felix sat so close to him on the sofa that he was practically between Sylvain’s crossed legs. He tried not to read too much into it, or how his heart raced with Felix’s proximity. How his breath caught when Felix shifted so their thighs pressed into each other. Felix’s teeth were chattering; his closeness was just the gremlin stealing Sylvain’s heat.

After warming mulled wine and a particularly heated debate on whether Die Hard was a Christmas movie (of course it isn’t, Felix. Yes it is, Sylvain. Prove it, Felix) that ended when Felix produced an internet article, backed with data - bastard knew Sylvain can’t argue with data - to prove it was, they settled down in front of the TV to dry off. Neither could be bothered to change when they got back in. One film turned into another before they knew it.

Sothis, it was so easy to be around Felix. Sylvain treasured the peace he felt in his friend's presence. His mind switched off, the overthinking went away, and there was only Felix. Only those bright, ochre eyes, narrowed by the perma-scowl, with a snarky comeback to whatever Sylvain had to say. He resisted the urge to rest his head on Felix’s, or to pull Felix into his arms, or to press a kiss into Felix’s midnight hair. When the urge got too much, he checked his watch for the time. Since when was it 6pm!?

“Food.” Sylvain tapped Felix with the back of his hand, and they both modded their pizzas while chatting about the movie - Sylvain still didn’t agree it was a Christmas film - before shoving them in the oven. Usually Sylvain would insist on preheating it but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He got comfy in his place on the sofa and made to restart the movie, but Felix’s voice stayed his hand.

“Why do you mess them around, Sylvain?”

Shit. Sylvain’s gut lurched towards the floor. He’d learnt a long time ago not to ask questions you don’t actually want the answer to. Felix clearly hadn’t.

“You won’t like it, Fe,” Sylvain warned.

Felix’s judgemental eyes shamed him into answering regardless. “Uhhh, it’s difficult.” Sylvain rubbed the nape of his neck as he tried to find the least worst way to phrase it, because there was no good way to say it. “It’s like - I do like them. Care about them, even. A bit, anyway. I don’t mean to lead them on. But none of them hold my interest for longer than a few weeks. I kind of wish they did.” Sylvain let dry laughter leak into the last words. “The ones who make me work for it more hold my attention longer.” He shrugged, looking down at his lap, shaking his head. “I guess I keep trying because I hope it will be different with the next one, even though I know deep down it won’t be.” Sylvain’s brow furrowed. “The thing is, though, that it always becomes crystal clear that they don’t want  _ me. _ They want my name, the status it gives them, my family wealth, but not  _ me.” _

“You never give any of them a chance to prove you wrong on that.”   
  


“Don’t need to, ‘Lix. I can read people’s intentions really well. I learnt that lesson quickly, far too young.”

“What do you mean?” Felix sounded concerned. Sylvain just laughed him off. It sounded hollow, empty, even to his own ears.

“Doesn’t matter, Fe. Just - believe me when I say I know, m’kay?”

“Syl _ vain-” _

“Drop it, Felix,” Sylvain ordered, his tone unforgiving.

Felix's voice was so quiet he could barely make it out. “Has anyone ever held your attention?”

Sylvain wanted to snap at him for prodding after he was told to drop it. He wanted to shake Felix for being so blind, so dense, so oblivious to the obvious. He wanted to rip out his traitor heart and offer it to Felix, still bloodied and beating, for him to do whatever he wanted with it. He wanted to know what the answer Felix wanted to hear was, so he could parrot it back to make Felix happy, like he did with all the objects of his vapid flings. The last want burnt a sickening hole in his stomach.

Felix was a man, not one of “Sylvain’s girls”, and most of all, Sylvain didn’t want to treat him like he did the endless stream of skirts he chased.

“Yes. But I’m not talking about them, Fe.” Sylvain missed the flash in Felix’s eyes when he said ‘them’ instead of ‘her.’

“How long for?”

“Years,” slipped from his mouth before he could stop it. “But I’m  _ not _ talking about them, Fe. I mean it.”

“Why-why aren’t you with them?” Wrapped up in his own thoughts of trying to redirect the conversation, Sylvain missed how Felix hesitated to ask, like maybe he didn’t want to know the answer to this particular question.

“Because I’m a fucking coward.”  _ Shit. _ What was wrong with him!? Why couldn’t he shut up? If he continued like this, Sylvain was going to mess up and say something that ruined his friendship with Felix.

He couldn’t risk one of the few good things in his life.

“No more, Fraldarius,” Sylvain growled. It worked. Felix didn’t ask him about it again.

“Wanna open presents while we wait for the pizzas?”

Good. They were deflecting now. Ignoring it. Sylvain liked it best that way. “Sure. Sounds good.”

Unwrapping presents didn’t take long. There were only six beneath the tree, one from each other member of the Faerghus Four. Dimitri got Felix a book on juggling and some balls to practise with. He’d overheard a joke conversation between Felix and a ginger from the Golden Deer halls and taken it seriously. Felix laughed about it though. Sylvain opened the envelope with his name on to find two tickets to see Wicked, with use of the Blaiddyd private balcony and free drinks all night.

“Who you gonna take?”

“Dima of course! This is so thoughtful,” Sylvain smiled. “Ferdie from Riding Club recommended it.”

Sylvain missed Felix’s face fall, then crash lower, at the mention of the other two men.

“Why not take this Ferdie?” Felix’s tone was weirdly measured. Controlled. Like he was holding something back. Probably because they were talking about Dimitri.

“Dima got the tickets, it’s only polite to ask him first. If he says no, then I probably will invite Ferdie. Not as a date or anything. Just two bros hanging out, enjoying a musical on Broadway.”

"Because  _ that's _ not gay," Felix scoffed.

"Didn't think you one to buy into stereotypes, Fe."

Felix ignored him and tore the paper off his gift from Ingrid with a little too much force, ripping the sheet in two. The knife and blocks of wood fell into his lap. A book on whittling and woodcarving techniques flew halfway across the room. Sylvain couldn’t contain his snigger, which set Felix off, and the weird tense atmosphere that had built between them dissipated.

Sylvain was more careful when he opened his gift. He removed all the tape, placing it straight in the bin, and unfolded the paper to reveal a stack of books with a theme. Gottman’s  _ The Relationship Cure, _ Manson’s  _ MODELS: Attract Women Through Honesty, _ Deida’s  _ The Way of the Superior Man, _ and a diary with the note “To keep track of the names so I don’t have to -Ingrid” written in the inside cover.

“Probably deserve that,” Sylvain said, passing the diary over for Felix to read.

“You  _ definitely _ deserve that. Here.” Felix passed the diary back with his present underneath. “Merry Christmas, Syl.”

His fingers brushed against Felix's when he accepted the gift, causing Sylvain to nearly jump out of his skin at the spark of electricity he felt. He shook his head to clear it of the million suggestions racing through it, and unwrapped Felix's gift with a high level of care to distract himself. Felix was staring at him intently, the heat of his gaze beading a drop of sweat on the back of Sylvain's neck. He turned the present over in his hands, speechless.

It was a first edition copy of Dickens'  _ A Christmas Carol. _

"Felix, I..." Sylvain looked up at his friend, dumbstruck. Besotted. Whatever the much more powerful version of grateful was. He felt deeply, but words to describe it escaped him.

"Don't mention it." His tone was gruff, but Felix beamed with pride at Sylvain's reaction.

Oh goddess. Sylvain hadn't anticipated being around Felix when he opened his present. Fuck. Would he even like it? Ahhhhhhh. It was too much pressure. Sylvain shifted, adjusting his weight, waiting for Felix to open it as he kept the nerves at bay. His gift  _ from _ Felix was perfect. There was no way his gift  _ to  _ Felix could be as good. 

It was just a dumb idea he'd had after Felix confessed to being a little homesick after one - or maybe a few, but who was counting? - too many tequilas at the start of the semester when he was sure Sylvain wouldn't remember. Sylvain never forgot anything Felix told him.

He rang around all their friends, spoke to Glenn, trawled through all the social media sites he could (with a little help from Felix's new friend Annette) and put together a scrapbook of his life. Photos of what Sylvain knew where Felix's favourite childhood memories - wrestling with Glenn; the ski trip the five of them took (he cut Miklan out of it) when Felix was 8 and Sylvain was 10; a portrait of him and Glenn in his mother's arms, Rodrigue stood behind her, her long red hair flowing in the breeze beneath the maple tree they were sat under - mixed with the new memories they'd made at uni. Felix and Sylvain outside their new flat in the dorms; the kendo vs fencing club's infamous pub crawl; a shot of everyone at their friend Secret Santa exchange with the tree, in all its gaudy splendor, stealing the show in the background.

Watching Felix’s face light up as he flipped through the pages, Sylvain couldn’t help but feel that together, with Felix, by this Christmas tree, was where he was supposed to be this year. Sometimes, everything had a way of working out.

Sylvain stood to check on the pizzas, making it as far as the doorway until Felix pulled him into a tight hug from behind, pressing his face into Sylvain's back as he mumbled "Thank you, 'Vain." Instinctively, his face gravitated towards Felix, smirk already blooming, but Felix held him too tight to turn around and Sylvain wouldn't do anything to jeopardise the moment. The vice like grip was calming. Contact with Felix usually sent his pulse racing, his thoughts devolving into a vicious whirlpool of longing he had to escape to avoid dashing his heart on the hard rocks of rejection and a Felix-free life. This was different. Grounding.  _ Seiros, _ how could a person feel like  _ home? _

When Felix finally released him, Sylvain took a deep breath before spinning on his heels to muss Felix's hair. He'd hate it, so they could go back to Felix being annoyed at him rather than the emotions that threatened to precipitate as the air around them became laden with unspoken words. "Don't mention it, 'Lix."

Felix stepped dangerously close to Sylvain - his preferred method of intimidation - to glower at him. Which couldn’t possibly work when Sylvain was too preoccupied with how Felix’s neck was close enough to pepper with kisses. He wanted to brush it with his lips. Suck dark marks into it that contrasted perfectly with his alabaster skin. Subconsciously, Sylvain bit his lip, thinking about how he wanted to know what Felix would sound like as his teeth grazed over the jugular he could  _ just _ make out. Something above his head became the recipient of Felix’s death glare. Sylvain followed his line of sight to see what had his friend transfixed. “Huh.”

A sprig of plastic mistletoe still hung in the doorway. Mercedes insisted he put them up when she volunteered Felix and Sylvain’s flat for the Secret Santa Exchange. Sylvain must’ve missed this one when he was taking the decorations down. He and Felix were standing directly underneath the mistletoe. Felix noticed the mistletoe. He noticed Sylvain noticing the mistletoe. This is it. Felix’s chance to back away. But the man remained stubbornly still. Neither of them moved, eyes trained upwards at the offending white berries.  _ This is a sign, _ Sylvain thought.  _ It has to be. _ But, true to form, he didn’t act on it. There was too much at stake if he was wrong.

The room seemed hotter than a furnace when Felix broke the pregnant silence. Tension still hung in the inch of charged air between them. “What kind of person even tries this bullshit to get kissed?”

Sylvain’s head snapped down. He swallowed, his voice escaping him, and opted to gesture at his Christmas jumper instead of answering. He managed a weak cocky smile to go with it.

“Hoes, right. You think this gets you kissed by the right person?” Felix chided.

“Sometimes you have to kiss a few frogs to get your prince, but,” Sylvain shrugged, keeping his arms raised, “Hoe Hoe Hoe-pefully?” His smile morphed into something timid and bashful instead.

Felix’s eyes were dark, stormy with all the emotions beneath his blank exterior, but Sylvain didn’t miss how they darted down to look at his lips. He licked them reflexively, watching Felix’s eyes follow the movement of his tongue. Sylvain swallowed audibly again, his brain unable to process any of what was happening. This was a dream. It had to be. Then Felix’s head tilted up, eyes never leaving his lips. Sylvain took the hint, leaning down to close the scant distance between them. Fingers knocked into his, a featherlight brush Sylvain felt stop his heart. It came again, jolting his heart back to tachycardic life, except this time the fingers stayed, interlocking. A perfect fit.

Their noses were close enough to brush as Sylvain tilted his head. From here, Sylvain could see how Felix’s dark eyelashes rested against his cheeks. The tens of other colours in those amber eyes he hadn’t noticed before sparkled in the thin strip of visible iris. The warmth of Felix’s body against Sylvain’s was unexpected. Felix always ran cold, although all Sylvain could focus on was the rush of his pulse in his ears, the smokey smell of Felix’s skin, how overwhelmingly warm he felt, the inexcusable gap between their lips.

Sylvain’s eyes flicked up to check this was okay. They were greeted with a fierce hunger and a sharp nod. Felix swallowed and closed his eyes, ridding Sylvain of any breath left in his body. He closed his own, trusting the mental map he had of Felix’s body to guide him true. Felix’s breath ghosted his lips, each hot exhale a trail of breadcrumbs for him to follow to his prize: the forbidden knowledge of what Felix Hugo Fraldarius tasted like. Sylvain bravely closed the last centimetre of distance, mouth slightly open to accept Felix, consumed with the need to kiss him stupid.

Sylvain wanted this, and Felix wanted this, and they could sort the rest out after they gave in to the chemistry between them.

Before their lips met, the oven alarm went off.

**Author's Note:**

> I thrive on feedback (including constructive!) so please feel free to comment / leave kudos etc.
> 
> If I missed any important tags, you can find me in the Sylvix discord server.
> 
> ["This"](https://stephenfollows.com/using-data-to-determine-if-die-hard-is-a-christmas-movie/) is the article Felix showed Sylvain about Die Hard being a Christmas movie.  
> The books Ingrid buys Sylvain are real but I have not read them. I just picked a handful from a quick google search for realism.


End file.
